Shooting The Breeze
by Your Local Witch
Summary: Where was Percy after the Quidditch World Cup? Waiting in the trees to meet someone he hadn't seen in a while... PWOW slash, chapters 2 and 3 added! PG-13 for now, might change... Enjoy! Ch.1 revised a tad
1. Of Leprechuans, Drunken Singing, and

Author: OliberTheGreat

Rating: PG for now

Pairing: Oliver Wood and Percy Weasley... just a bit of pre-slash, really.

Chapters: One Shot so far, I'll write more if the reviewers think it's a good idea.

I edited it a bit since posting!

**Of Drunken Singing, Leprechauns and Shooting The Breeze**

_"They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and Mr.Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa before turning in..."_ But where was Percy?

Bailey's inspiration- Percy mistakes a tree for Oliver and possibly snogs it. Nerd, silver, gold, fish! Ergh, cat, argh-d, fondue!!!

Author's response- um?

Percy Weasley impatiently stood, arms crossed and posture rigid, a little ways off the beaten path of the wood. Standing near a peculiarly bent tree in the darkness, he could see a bit of red and green light filtering through the trees from the lanterns placed about, and could hear snatches of off-tune, drunken singing. He smirked darkly to himself at the thought of his fellow Ministry members; the more experienced and dedicated ones, that group including Mr.Crouch, no doubt, would be the ones prowling around the festivities, making certain that there was no trouble, and if there was, making sure that whoever was causing it would bugger off. And the younger or more careless ones (probably including Ludo Bagman) would be the ones joining the festivities, happily getting piss drunk and eventually passing out somewhere in the wood without a care for their careers or public image. Percy was satisfied that he would be part of neither group tonight, for once happy at the prospect of a break. He was exhausted, and very ready to get to bed, but there was a little appointment he had to take care of first, which was, essentially, the reason that he was loitering almost totally obscured in darkness in the wood, near the specified tree.

He sighed exasperatedly, hoping that this would be over soon. He didn't quite know why he was so edgy about this. _I mean, it's only Oliver. What harm could there be in talking to him?_ Percy reasoned in his mind. _Alright, so Oliver Wood was never exactly friendly to me in school, rather, he was sort of... distant, really._ _To me, at least. I suppose we both had our own obligations and our individual groups of friends, and that's perfectly fine... but then again, he had been my roommate..._

At these thoughts, Percy became a little disheartened. So why hadn't Oliver made an effort to be friends with him? What, was he some sort of untouchable freak? Did he have some barrier aroud him that everyone but him could see? He couldn't really see anything wrong with the way he was in school, except... oh. Well then. Perhaps the fact that he was a constant snob had something to do with it.

He sighed again and leaned back against the oddly twisted tree, closing his eyes, shutting out what little light there was and his painful thoughts. He let out a long, shuddering sigh. _Gods_, _it's a beautiful night_, Percy thought absently, feeling the still, warm air around him, which made him feel safe, secure in the blanket of warmth and darkness. He didn't have to be looking at it to know that it was beautiful. He could imagine it, picture the scene around him clearly in his minds eye, the dark shapes of the trees seamlessly flowing upwards from last year's dead leaves and soft loam underfoot, with the-

"Percy? Percy, are you there?"

Percy sharply drew in his breath, eyes snapping open. He whipped around to the direction of the voice. Seeing a familiar dark shape moving towards him, he let the breath out. He gave a weak laugh.

"Gave me quite a scare, Oliver." He said cheerily, though it was clearly false cheer, the shakiness of his voice giving him away. Oliver stepped closer, holding a finger to his lips for quiet, and Percy could just make out the details of his face and body through the darkness. Not much had changed, really, since seventh year. He was dressed in a rather snug Ireland T-shirt and khaki pants, looking very good, Percy was surprised to hear himself admit, even if he didn't say it aloud. Oliver wore a rather sentimental expression, a small, grateful smile gracing his features.

"I didn't think you would come." He almost muttered, leaning against the funnily shaped tree.

Percy frowned. He desperately wanted to say something like 'You have that little faith in me?' but he didn't want to make it obvious to Oliver that it bothered him. After all, he needed to develop a thicker skin. He was in the real world now. He forced a barking laugh that made Oliver flinch. "And why would you think that?"

"I don't know." Oliver paused. "You _were _always rather punctual in school." Percy remained expressionless, hoping this wasn't some stab at him for his attitude at Hogwarts. Oliver went on. "Just... my own nerves, I guess." He paused again before going on. "It's been quite a while."

"It certainly has." Percy said, letting a smidgen of the sentimentality seep through into his voice. He bit his lip, biting back other things he wished he could say. This certainly wasn't going how he had originally planned. He had promised himself not to do anything rash, anything that he would regret. He ached to just burst out and start yelling 'Why now? Why is it now that you decide to talk to me, of all of the wrong times? Why not in school, when I needed a friend, when I needed some stability, some clarification?' "So," Percy began awkwardly, "I suppose you'll be wanting to hear about my job, then?" He ended hopefully, then, realising how horrible he sounded, he shook his head. "No, I'm sorry... Oliver," It was hard to say his name, for some reason. "Pay no mind. I'm just... excited about it, I suppose. I don't want to start rambling."

There was silence for a few moments. "You've changed, Percy Weasley."

Percy blinked, mildly surprised at the graveness of this statement. It hit home, and Percy wasn't sure if it was intended to or not. He brushed off the sinking feeling in his stomach and laughed, another forced laugh that actually sounded more bitter than it did happy. "I certainly have. No more lazy tendencies, like in school. You really wouldn't beleive how much I-"

"Lazy?" Oliver snorted, turning to face Percy. "How can you say that? You're mad! Look at the grades you got, the classes you were in! The friends you had..." Oliver's voice sounded a bit pained at that last statement. Percy wondered whether he was just imagining it. "That is not the product of laziness. You're insane if you're working any harder than that." His tone then got quieter. "All I was implying was that... well, look at you, you're... forcing laughs, for one." Percy's face reddened. "And you've become quite... false. Why can't you just say what you mean? How hard is it to say 'I missed you,' or 'how are you?' Never mind. I'm sure that you wouldn't waste your politeness on me," he spat with more anguish than Percy had expected from him, "You're reserving it for kissing high-rung Ministry arse." He paused for a second. "It may be easy for others to think that your life is nothing but your job, but... but I know better."

One thing Percy had always admired about Oliver was that he wasn't afraid to speak his mind. There were no pretty words, no beating around the bush, no little white lies. Not with Oliver. Back at Hogwarts, Percy had just attested Oliver's frankness to stupidity, thinking him to be the thick jock who didn't understand much more than Quidditch and fights, let alone tact. Tactless would have been a good term for him to use to describe him, but that was far too cruel for sweet Oliver in Percy's mind. He had never done anything deserving of such a statement to Percy. He wasn't really tactless; for some reason, his honesty made him all the more charming, and though Percy had hardly admitted it to himself, he was utterly and entirely jealous of Oliver and his ability to be perfectly truthful, and somehow still be absolutely loved by everyone.

Percy could imagine one of the girls on the Quidditch team asking if her new shirt looked alright at the breakfast table, and Oliver could say it was total rubbish and made her look fat perfectly honestly, then flash one of those amazing smiles and all would be right with the world. If Percy had said something similar in that same situation, he would most likely be wearing his breakfast and have a one way ticket to the cold shoulder for a few weeks. Not that she would have asked him, anyway... alright, you know things are getting out of hand when you're bitter at hypothetical situations... That was just the way things seemed to work in school; Oliver being the unintended social butterfly (though he was viewed coldly by many students in and out of Gryffindor House, they called him eccentric, and Percy could agree to that- he was) and Percy being the cold, lonely introvert. Ah, for the days of youth, Percy would think as if they were a long gone time, then remind himself that he was only eighteen, though he probably had more promotions than his father had in his entire Ministry career.

Who is this man, this boy, Percy thought with anguish as he stood in the semidarkness, about ready to storm off, to tell me what my goals are? To say to me that I have changed, to educate me about my own personality! Percy nearly said these things, but managed to bite them back. He knew what he was doing, he was being all he loathed to be, the polar opposite of Oliver with his frankness, a complete liar to himself and the world, the scrawny wolf in the pack with his tail between his legs, but he couldn't help it. It was quite an old habit, and it didn't look like it was being broken anytime soon.

The two just stared each other down in silence, Percy with his ill-concealed anguish and Oliver with his bitter expression quickly giving way to guilt. Percy's breathing got ragged, hid cheeks getting red, the anger building, and he was beginning to open his mouth and say something bitter and dignified but Oliver beat him to the opportunity to speak. "Percy, I'm sorry... I lost my temper." He let out a breath, his posture relaxing considerably. "You really don't know how much I needed to get that off my chest." He added almost as an afterthought, running a hand through his hair. Percy 'hmphed.'

"Well, _Oliver_," he spat the name as if in defiance, "I'm glad you had your little release. Now you can go on living, guilt free, because you expressed your feelings," he mocked in a girly tone, "And now you feel _good_. Well, what about those of us who don't get that release?! What about those of us who can't, who don't want to get themselves so bloody worked up even though they're probably developing a stress ulcer from the pain of keeping it all in?!! What about me, Oliver Wood, what about me?!" He shouted, his voice had been gaining volume all through this. The red and green lights went on shining, the drunken singing didn't halt, no; it seemed as if the world didn't care that Percy Weasley had just expelled more of his feelings than he had in years. But Oliver, he just stood there, looking so damn pitying, and compassionate, and maybe even empathetic. Percy hated being pitied, and he hated it even more when people pretended to know how he felt. Not that he had told anyone how he felt before. Like it mattered.

Oliver stepped forward, outstretching his hand as if to touch Percy. Percy, who had lost all sense of reason, who was just vaguely aware of the fact that it was completely wrong to take this out on poor Oliver, did the only thing that he could register as being right: he slapped him. Just like that, breathing even heavier and face even redder, he wound his arm back, and swung it forwards. His palm hit Oliver's face with a resounding smack that echoed through the woods. It seemed to Percy that perhaps this time the lights did flicker, the singing waver. And then he was stepping back, pulling his hand away. He looked at Oliver defiantly, who was completely still, face looking so shocked and innocent that Percy's anger started to fade. "No..." he breathed, wondering what on earth he had just done, and why, why he had to do so. Oliver's cheek was very red where Percy's hand had hit, but he still looked straight at Percy, his shocked expression only changing for a moment as his brow furrowed slightly.

"I-I'm sorry," Percy quickly whispered, not sure of what to do or say, voice strained.

"So am I." Oliver whispered back, and he turned, walking away. Percy just stood there, unable to move, rooted to the spot. He could hear Oliver's footsteps, leaving, crunching on dead leaves. Percy, completely drained of energy, just wanted to curl up and die. What had he done? Had he just ruined what could have been a friendship? He gave a strangled sob and slowly slid to the ground, back against the crooked tree. He let himself slide all the way down until his shoulders met the roots, laying on the soft forest gound, leaves crunching under his robe clad back. He forced the tears to stay in, he couldn't cry, he wouldn't let himself. He had to get a thicker skin. He let the whole incident sink in, prepared to file it in with the other memories that he never wanted to have to think about again. He took a deep breath, trying to force the tears back in, though they weren't obeying him one bit. He leaned his head against the base of the tree, not caring that his hair was mussed and full of bark or that his Ministry robes were getting all dirty. He opened his eyes, vision blurred, and watched a patch of night through the foliage over head. A leprachaun shot by in a shower of red sparks. He tried to think of what an adult would do in this situation, then realized that he _was_ the adult this time. He was in the real world now.

It wasn't the real world, not even close, Percy Weasley realized, his endless sea of faceless Ministry drones that he had witnessed so far. He was sheltered still, not used to the cruelty of real life, not used to being hurt so. _This_ was the real world, or a small portion of it, this being hurt without anything to fall on, no one to pick up the peices. He took a deep breath and tried to gather himself, trying to ready himself for something he had missed directly between graduating school and getting a job: being a man. He couldn't do this, he couldn't _cry_ like the poor little wretch that he was. He had to be someone, for himself, his family, whatever. He had to be that rock, that thing to rebound on, the person to pick up his own, or anyone elses, peices. He closed his eyes wearily.

Oliver was gone, his words were ringing in Percy's ears, and he wasn't coming back, and it was all Percy's fault and... and he could hear rustling footfalls coming nearer, and they were now right next to his head. He heard a weary sigh, but he didn't dare open his eyes, because if he did, then maybe it would stop being real, it would just blow away on the wind... He could feel a body laying close beside him, and rough, calloused hands gently pulling him closer and a forehead pressed to his. This was when he dared to open his eyes. Brown ones stared unwaveringly back at him with an absolutely unearthly expression; Percy didn't know how to describe it.

"I'll change, Oliver, I will." He said to the dark shape next to him, returning the embrace, arms wrapped around Oliver's back, pulling him close for comfort. The sounds of the forest, the singing, the celebrating and the leprachauns were brilliantly there, Percy was frighteningly aware of it, though louder and more significant was Oliver's breathing and his own thumping heart. The breeze blew a few dead leaves into Oliver's hair, Percy absently picked one out, watching it go tumbling past. Raucous singing was borne towards them on the night air, and leprechauns kept shooting overhead...

A/N: Please review! Not only is feedback greatly appreciated, but I consider my reviews a poll! If you review, please tell me whether or not you think it would be a good idea to continue this, as in multiple chapters, and why. Please, I'm not too fond of responses like, "OMG Olli and Perce r sooo hawt rite more so they kan have hott sexxx!!!" Um, yeah, that was weird, but I've had reviews worse... (shudders)... ew, anyway, please, review!


	2. A Shot and a Chance

A/N: Wow! Finally, an update! I had to, you see, for I was threatened with tears and drinking... both of which I won't be responsible for! Okay, I'll admit, I had a second chapter in the works looong ago, but guess what? It sucked. It sat there on my hard drive, collecting procrastination dust, making little progress, so I trashed it, and started out again with an entirely different concept. Yay! To be honest, these two chapters (2 and 3) took me less than a day to write, and they, in comparison to the original second chapter I had, are scads better! I'm so sorry about this, by the way, I'll try to be a better updater from now on! And as for the plot... I'm sort of running out of steam with angst, you know? These two chappies may be the last bit of actual super-whiny angstyness, because I actually loathe it.

Super super happyhappy joy joy thanks to Pet of Switchknife (wow! I'm amazed at that review!) and Marauder for the reviews! (Marauder, I worship the ground that you walk on!) And thank you to all other reviewers, as well! Next time I'll try and do a full list of reviewers... I'm just feeling lazy today. Now, on with the story!

**Shooting the breeze- Chapter Two- A Shot and a Chance**

_Please, please just talk to me._

No. He wouldn't. It hurt too much.

_All I want is to understand some things._

All he wanted was to mock him. No, he wouldn't be weak.

_Can't we talk this out? I gave you the address... is Thursday alright?_

... His schedule was very tight, you see, so if, and that was a big _if_, it would allow...

_Alright. I hope it works out. I hope I didn't... I'm sorry._

And then there was the hand on his shoulder.

_Good luck, Perce._

Why was he wishing him luck? And why was he using his nickname? And why was he so fond of him all a sudden?

_Because... well, because isn't luck a good thing to have all the time?_

It is, Oliver, it is. And then it was cold where the hand had been.


	3. Perhaps

A.N. and Disclaimer- Hello, all! Chapter three, woot woot and all that. I've been busy, as you can tell, so I'm sorrythe update was so long in coming! Note- I do not own Harry Potter, Percy Weasley, theMinistry of Magic, any other characters, settings, etc etc. The plot and Maggie, however, are mine. Enjoy and review!

**Shooting the Breeze- Chapter Three- Perhaps**

"Mr.Crouch, you have a meeting with Madame Bones in fifteen minutes."

"Tell her that I need to reschedule."

"Yes, sir. For when?"

"It doesn't matter- just- just go. Go... file something. Weatherby, have you-"

"Yes, sir."

"I said _go_, Nancy. Weatherby- Weatherby, where have you gone?"

"I'm right here, sir." Percy resisted the urge to give the secretary a reassuring look of some sort as she left, for though he had forgotten her name, he knew that it was most certainly not Nancy. He kept his eyes fixed on Mr.Crouch, who, among the neat but looming piles of paperwork, looked something like a mad dog. His entire appearance was in shambles, but neatly, somehow- as a matter of fact, the whole office, the whole department, even, could be described that way; complete stress and confusion masked with the semblance of order. His Ministry robes were hung neatly on the back of his chair, but in such a way that you could tell they were placed there with much condsideration for appearance, despite the unimportance of appearance when things were this mad. There they hung, perfectly straight, doubled over to prevent from brushing against the floor, the Ministry insignia in clear view. Crouch himself was clad in his usual muggle dress shirt- a neurotic white- and neat, dark grey slacks. Not a wrinkle or stain was to be seen anywhere. His eyes periodically widened and squinted, and his face was startlingly cleanshaven for someone so otherwise disheveled. The dark circles under his eyes attested to the fact that there had been very little sleep for days- weeks, probably. Yet he still came to work early and did more work than he should have, a truly amazing, if not stupid, feat. An amazingly stupid feat. This was what Percy admired about Crouch- his ability to keep everything in perfect order without fail, no matter what the circumstances. The obsessive complusive cleanliness of his entire department reflected this ability- as did his coworkers' constant worry of toeing the line.

"Right... have you completed the... the..." Crouch didn't even look at Percy as he increased the pile of papers in his outbox, scribbling his signature and moving his bloodshot eyes over more fine print. Percy frowned.

"The Broomstick Importation Ordinances, sir?" Percy asked, finishing where Crouch trailed off.

"Yes, that's the one. Have you started it yet?" He still didn't look up as another secretary, this one by the name of Jennings, wordlessly placed a stack of folders on the corner of the desk. Jennings didn't acknowledge Percy at all; this just made Percy tilt his head a bit higher as he responded, holding out a thick report in a manila file folder.

"Yes, sir. Finished it last night." Before Crouch could reply (if he was even going to reply), three Ministry-sealed paper airplanes swooped in through the open door, the first two landing neatly on top of the paper Crouch was currently skimming. The other, apparently a cheekier type, did circles around Percy's head and knocked into his glasses before sloppily landing on the desk, point bent in defiance. Percy flinched and jerked his head back, causing his glasses to clatter to the floor. He blinked fuzzily, glaring at nothing in particular. _Wonderful. Just wonderful,_ he thought as he stooped to pick them up, groping around on the carpet with one hand. When he didn't locate them on that side of the desk, he grumbled and straightened up, reaching his hand out. He was about to preform a simple _accio glasses_ when he found them being gently placed back in his open hand. Somewhat confused, he quickly donned them and automatically looked to Mr.Crouch, wondering... no, he was still sitting at his desk, the picture of manic productivity, squinting and signing diligently, ignoring the folded messages entirely, ignoring Percy even more entirely. Percy, downtrodden, looked back in front of him to see the secretary whose name wasn't Nancy smiling at him pityingly. _She must have slipped in after the messages did_, he thought briefly.

He nodded at her in uncertain thanks. She smiled back. "I'm sorry that I forgot, but what's your name again?" She asked politely. Her curly brown hair was pulled back in a conservative bun, and her teeth seemed startlingly white to Percy. He found himself lost for an answer.

"Weatherby," he found himself saying, voice slipping into the habitual monotone that was somewhat subservient but moreso pompous and generally unpleasant. How had he gotten here? Denying his own name for the benefit of a brilliant businessman? Actually, the brilliant businessman didn't even seem to be listening, Percy noted as he glanced back to Mr.Crouch's desk, but put that fact out of his mind.

The woman nodded, as if she pitied him for it. After a moment of silence, she decided to comment again. "World Cup was good, wasn't it? I mean, the game, of course, not the events that followed." Percy nearly blanched in alarm. He took a cautionary glance at Mr.Crouch, who still hadn't noticed, then quickly looked back to the secretary, the surprised dissapproval on his face quite clear. She just seemed to be waiting for an answer. His expression softened for a moment, then quickly changed it's direction and settled at blank confusion. How odd this was to Percy- had his boss gotten so wrapped up in his work that he hadn't even noticed a casual conversation, the most unforgiving kind, happening right in his office? Right in front of him? Percy didn't even want to think about that much going... well, wonky, in his life at the moment.

"It was... depressing." Answered Percy after a moment, after he was sure that Crouch was completely preoccupied, his voice heavy and stiff with cloaked emotion. That night had been a birth of sorts, an awakening to a lot of possiblities and chances to redeem himself- but in the end, it had turned out worthless.

"Oh, so you were for Bulgaria? Well, that's alright. Krum did get the Snitch, so I suppose that's worth talking about, right?" Here she laughed, her white teeth flashing in an almost predatory way, thought Percy. His face refused to budge from the stoic expression it wore.

"Yes." He said stiffly, cheeks flushed, turning from her and opening a file cabinet against the wall, hoping she would take a hint. After a minute of pointless rummaging, she didn't seem to.

"I was rooting for Britain to make it, naturally, being a big Kestrels fan, myself, but-"

"We're rather busy at the moment, so perhaps you should-"

"Oh, alright, I'll go now." She was still smiling, not minding at all that she had been interrupted. "I bet you're busy after everything that's been going on, of course. I have my own work, anyway, as much as I'd love to forget I had it." Here she laughed. "Perhaps we could have coffee sometime?" _Is she truly this oblivious? I've been trying to make her leave and she just- stays- put..._ "Weatherby?"

It took him a moment, but Percy looked up from the open drawer of files that he had been staring blankly at. "Oh, yes, sure. And your name was?"

"Maggie." She held out her hand and he shook it, trying to keep his bewilderment from becoming too obvious. She flashed another smile, he swore it was more like the bearing of fangs, and exited the office. Percy, for a moment, was frozen with shock. Astounded, perhaps, but numb was actually a more accurate term. He felt no emotion whatsoever at the prospect of coffee with this secretary, no, this woman, and was quite releived that they hadn't set a date or time yet. Hopefully he could beg off whenever she-

"Weatherby, I have an assignment for you."

"Yes, sir." Flustered, Percy immediately closed the file drawer and stepped before the desk, drawing himself up with as much self-importance as he could muster at that unbalanced moment. Mr.Crouch didn't look up as he thrust a stack of papers in a manila file folder at Percy and continued scribbling on whatever ordinance or new law he was trying to have passed. He didn't say a word about the secretary, or anything, really. He didn't even drop a hint about paying more attention to work, just said,

"Have this completed and handed in to me by Wednsday. I expect it to be thorough and well-researched."

"Of course, sir." Replied Percy before opening the folder to see- _The International Broomstick Importation Ordinance._ Percy furrowed his brow. "Mr.Crouch, sir, I've already-" At that moment Ludo Bagman decided to barge into the office, his jovial grin looking screwed onto his face as he slapped a broad palm on the edge of the desk, almost upsetting a tediously placed stack of scrolls.

"Barty, just the man I'm looking for!" Percy had to control his urge to glare. He settled for frowning dissaprovingly. _Of course he's the man you're looking for, you just barged into his own office. By some small miracle, he was there, though knowing you, you wouldn't have even-_ his internal criticism of Bagman stopped, for his curiosity was now somewhat piqued. Percy raised an eyebrow, for Bagman's voice wavered, he sounded desperate, and looked about as bad as Crouch himself. Percy almost smiled with smug satisfaction at this- he'd probably lost a bet and been threatened, or attacked, or something along those lines. Whatever it was, he probably deserved it.

"Hello, Ludo." Said Crouch wearily, still writing without pause. "What can I do for you?" These words were reluctant, like niceties that must be made to certain people despite the fact that you despise them.

Here Bagman took a quick scan of the office and shut the door, as if preventing any spies from hearing. Percy almost snorted at the notion. It was then that Bagman noticed Percy. "Hullo, Weasley," he said quickly as he strode to Crouch's desk, blue eyes looking bloodshot as they flicked back to Crouch, giving Percy the most fleeting of stares. Percy, somewhat taken back at being addressed by his actual surname, waited to be asked to leave, but when Bagman started speaking in a hushed, hurried tone to Barty, Percy realized that he wasn't going to be asked to leave. His stomach gave a sudden lurch of excitement- he was _important _enough not to be sheilded from private conversations.

"Barty, you see, I'm in a bit of a pickle here."

"How so, Ludo?"

They _trusted_ him.

"Well, I'm sure you recall those blokes from the Cup? You know, short, long nails, bad hair, kind of dangerous looking... no, not the Bulgarians... it was a joke, a joke!Alright, so they were goblins, not exactly blokes, but I'm sure you understand my reluctance to-"

"Yes, Ludo. I remember. Please go on."

Nearly floating on air, Percy sat down at his small desk in the corner and set the folder down, pulling a neatly clipped quill from a well organised drawer, opening the manila folder with a sense of importance. He began working on the _Importation Ordinance_ again. If Mr.Crouch had assigned it twice, he obviously had a good reason, Percy knew. Then again, there was a lot that Percy thought he knew.

* * *

Percy's day had gone spectacularly- so spectacularly, in fact, that he neglected to follow his normal routine of overtime then Apparating back to the Burrow to eat, work, and maybe sleep. Instead, after his overtime shift, he punched out and left through the Atrium, stepping out into muggle London with a sense of pride that could have easily been mistaken for smugness, and probably was by those who cared to notice. He strode out onto the sidewalk, breifcase in tow, and decided to treat himself to something nice, something that he didn't get too often... he thought as he walked along, wondering which affordable eating establishments would be open now. _Let's see, it's Thursday, so there's always that nice little Indian place, and... it's Thursday..._

_"I gave you the address... how's Thursday?"_

Percy stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. No. That couldn't be right. Alright, so it was right, but that wasn't giving him any good reason to do it. Shaking it off, he continued walking, not exactly sure where he was headed yet. Okay, so it _was_ giving him a good reason to do it, but even so, there was a lot at stake here. He continued walking, a bit faster now, as if the sooner he got to the corner, the easier it would be to decide. What was at stake? Memories were at stake, and just a small bit of pride... He was now torn between two destinations, one of which held a window to a past he didn't want to remember, and the other... the other was anywhere else. Memories were worth it, but pride... perhaps not. He stopped at the corner, reading the street names slowly and meticulously, as if trying to memorize every detail on the signs. Hesitating, he began to turn right, but before his feet had carried him three meters he was turning back and hurrying in the other direction as if he had been going that way all along.

It was more crowded down this way, and before long, a stranger in a dark jacket hit shoulders with Percy, throwing him off balance and causing his briefcase to clatter to the ground, jerking open. Parchment went flying. Percy cursed under his breath as he leapt up and tried to catch as many as he could. _Way to be inconspicuous, Percy. _People walked by, not looking at him or at his scattered papers.

A stack of crumpled parchment in one hand, Percy grabbed the breifcase and shoved them in. All of the work that he would have to re-do! And even if it was still legible, he would most certainly not hand anything in to Mr.Crouch that had been walked upon! There must have been dozens of other peices littering the walk, and still no one seemed to want to help or notice. He looked hopelessly around, wondering if it would be worth it to use a Summoning Charm, when he heard someone call... er, his name. "Weatherby!" He turned around to see Maggie jogging from the direction that he had, a merry smile on her face as she waved at him. He noticed that she had her shoes from work in her right hand, and was now in muggle sneakers.

"That's a bit of a mess, isn't it?" She asked, jogging up. She immediately reached down and picked up a few papers, and was amiably chatting as she continued to do so. Percy noticed that her Ministry robes were nowhere in sight, probably tucked away in the well-worn brown messenger bag that she carried. She was dressed in a simple gray midlength skirt with a white button up blouse, a normal outift that wouldn't look out of place at a muggle place of business. His robes, he knew, had been folded neatly inside the suitcase... he started, frantically turning his head this way and that, searching the ground for his robes. "Here," Maggie said, handing them to him, apparently after picking them up off the ground. A lot was escaping Percy today. He took them at once and held them out, surveying the damage done, then noticed that this was hardly inconspicuous for being surrounded by muggles. He haphazardly rolled the robes up and tucked them under his arm as he stooped and hurriedly snatched the last peices of parchment up alongside Maggie, as if to prove he was capable. As she shut the briefcase and handed it back to him with a large smile, he realized that she was the only person on that street who had bothered to help him, and it wasn't out of pity, either, he was pretty sure. Did kindness really stem from assosciation? He thought that perhaps she had gone out of her way because she felt indebted to him for some reason, maybe because she had bothered him in Crouch's office. But then again, she hadn't really noticed his irritation, if there was any. Was Maggie only helping him because she knew him? He wondered what it was that made him so invisible to others, then.

Perhaps it wasn't he who was invisible, perhaps it was Weatherby who let himself be overlooked.

Perhaps her smile hadn't been so predatory, after all.

A/N: And now, Blaise Zabini makes a brhombus of pizza... wait... oops, wrong story! My bad! Aaanywho, please review and tell me watcha think! Next chapter, Oliver makes a reappearance, and things happen! Ooh, suspense!


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